Collision (27 page)

She was followed by the girl that Kei had walked over to pray with. It turned out that she was nine years old and had been sexually assaulted by a group of men a few days before. Kei was right. Shame was written all over her face.

Just when I didn’t think I could take any more, two children walked up, dropped to their knees in front of us, and offered each of us a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. The church had taken what little money they had and purchased the Cokes at the market and presented them to us as a gift. I didn’t want to drink it. I wanted to give it to one of the girls, but Kei said that the pastor and his congregation would be offended if we didn’t drink it, so we did. We sat and drank the warm soda while the people of the church watched. Many of them had probably never had a Coke in their lives, but they were honored to give one to me, a person who could have all the soda I’d ever want, a person who had never had to go without, a person who had everything a person could ever ask for yet never truly appreciated any of it.

I learned more from that one small bottle of Coke than I’d learned in my entire life. I learned that it’s better to give than receive and that it means even more to give when you give your all.

Honestly, I didn’t think I could handle any more that day, but we had several hours still ahead of us. But it was in those hours that I saw something beautiful. In spite of all the hardship, all the sickness, and all the brokenness, I saw joy.

That night, thousands of people danced and sang as the team prayed over person after person after person. Even I joined in and, with an interpreter, prayed for the people who wanted it.

Even though I was the one who was doing the praying for them, I was the one being changed. There I was, trying to minister to them, but in reality, they were ministering to me.

Subject:
Checking in

To:
RollingMamaStone

From:
YardballChamp07

Date:
December 3, 2007

Mom,

It’s been the most emotional several days of my entire life. All I can say is that I love it here. The people are amazing, and I can see why Kei loves it so much.

I feel a lot different than I expected I would. I thought I would feel sad all the time, feel sorry for their conditions, and I do to some extent. There are things here that are heartbreaking, no doubt about it. The camps are terrible, and the living conditions are deplorable (based on America’s standards), but there is still a sense of joy among the Christians here.

The people who have been a major part of my day are totally amazing. I’ve felt completely loved and accepted by everyone, and it’s unconditional.

I find myself wanting what they have, not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I’m jealous of them and the way they see the world and the people in it. I want what they have, and I’m hoping I can figure out how to get it.

Three of the boys who live in the mission house are orphans. Their parents were all killed by the LRA. Then, get this. Two men who also live in the house are former LRA soldiers, and both are no more than twenty-five years old. One was actually an officer. Can you imagine all of them living under the same roof and loving each other like brothers? I don’t think most people in America could muster up enough forgiveness and understanding to do it.

I asked Daniel how everyone can live together under one roof the way they do after everything that they’ve been through. How is there that much forgiveness?

He said that people forgive the former LRA soldiers when they come home and they accept them back into their community. He says it’s the ultimate proof of God’s love. Most of the soldiers were abducted as children and were brainwashed; they didn’t know any better, and they were fighting for their own survival.

I could have sat and listened to him talk for hours. Here he is, a guy my age, and he was one of the wisest people I’ve ever met, if not the wisest.

The more I think about it, the more I believe he’s right. When you suffer the atrocities these people have, what other option do you have but to forgive? Otherwise, the cycle begins and history repeats itself. He said that Uganda is a country of forgiveness. Maybe that’s why they are so filled with joy.

Before I sign off for the night, the words of a song they sing every morning:

From the rising of the sun

To the going down of the same

The name of the Lord will be praised.

I’m off to bed. My adventure continues tomorrow!

Love you!

Cabot

•••••

Subject: Re: Checking In

To:
YardballChamp07

From:
RollingMamaStone

Date:
December 4, 2007

Cabot,

We are all glued to these e-mails and the pictures you’re sending us. What amazing, amazing stories! We wish we were there with you so that we could all experience it together.

We all watched the documentary you told us about. We cried and cried all the way through. I think it’s one of the most powerful things I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing what people can survive, and it sounds like the work that Kei’s family is doing, is helping. What a great gift for you to get to see that live and in person. We’re all very jealous of you and the experiences you’re witnessing.

I worry about you going all the places you are. Please be careful!

Keep on writing and taking pictures! We can’t wait to read and see more!

Give Kei a kiss for me. I’m sure you won’t mind!

Be safe!

Much love,

Mom

•••••

Subject: Dinner anyone?

To: RollingMamaStone

From: YardballChamp07

Date: December 12, 2007

Afoyah,
Mom!

I killed a chicken today! I stood on its feet, broke its neck, and then cut its head off. It was awesome!

Several of the kids from the Joy House were at the mission house for lunch, and they watched. They thought it was hysterical. Kei videotaped the entire thing, so you can see it when I get back to the States next week. She’s officially become my photographer/videographer and is documenting almost everything we do. You’ll miss out on part of the chicken killing because she was laughing so hard she didn’t keep the camera still, but you’ll get the main parts, and the bloodiest.

I finished the chicken off by plucking it, or part of it anyway. The house ladies got tired of waiting and took over. They said that if they let me keep doing it, we wouldn’t have dinner tonight. Trust me. It’s a lot harder than you’d think.

I’ve also learned these new words. (I don’t know how to spell them. I’m spelling them by how you say them.):

I bought all the kids at Joy House bottles of soda called Stoney. They pried the lids off with their teeth! It hurt just watching it. It hurt more when I tried and almost broke a tooth. Kei made me stop, though. She was afraid it would ruin my teeth and I’d lose a movie gig.

The people carry their water around in something called a jerry can. Our shower consists of standing in a small blue dishpan and pouring water out of the jerry can onto ourselves. The water is freezing cold, and you don’t ever really get clean, but it still feels good.

Tell Cassidy she’s never allowed to complain about how many students she has in her class again. Faith, a woman who teaches here, has ninety-five five- and six-year-olds all by herself! And they actually sit still and pay attention. Maybe Faith can teach Cassidy a thing or two.

Oh, and I finally figured out why Kei’s legs are so freakin’ white. It’s considered inappropriate for women to show their knees! So she (and all the other women) wears long skirts. She wears shorts at home, but only upstairs in her room or on her balcony, where nobody else can see her legs. It’s amazing what that girl can get accomplished in a skirt. It doesn’t seem to stop her from much of anything.

Learn something new every day around here.

I’ve attached some pics of me and the kids, me and the mission’s staff, and a few of me and Kei.

Love you,

Cabot

C H A P T E R

23

Three weeks flew by faster than I could have ever imagined. I took part in everything I possibly could and grew very close to Kei’s family and the ministry team. I had grown closer to them than I had anyone else in my life (other than my family and Kei), no matter how long I’d known them. They were like family to me, and I literally dreaded the day that I would leave them behind. The only thing that made leaving bearable was knowing that I wouldn’t be saying good-bye to Kei at the same time.